


Business as Usual

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 20s au, AMERICUH, Gen, M/M, Shiganshina Trio, in which jean didn't sign up for this, in which we banned booze but then proceeded to get drunk, its totally a thing btw, team jellypyro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rose Diner is a hole-in-the-wall of a restaurant with more than a few secrets hidden in its floorboards. That was before they put the speakeasy underneath it for some sketchy motives. 20s AU. [ON HIATUS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jelly_Bat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly_Bat/gifts).



"Hey, Armin!" Eren called from below the stage, barely louder than the roaring crowd.

Armin glanced down from the stage, mid-piano riff. "I'm... a bit busy-"

"Can you do 'Hearts Flush' next? The one with the bass intro?"

"Eren, you know taking requests would- shit, can we not talk while I'm playing?" Armin flinched when he missed an entire chord by a whole-step.

"As if anyone would notice!" Eren sulked from below the stage. He had already been robbed of his dance partner, by a piano no less, and was already bitter over having to take Marco's route on top of his own. That was 40 miles he had to needlessly drive (okay, maybe not needlessly, they had some quality stuff up in Vincennes). Leaning against the platform's hardwood paneling, Eren scanned the atrium idly. 

Friday nights were always busy, but the number of people attempting to cram into a booth signaled just how crowded it was. Hanji had already abandoned her position planning running routes to help Jean fill the endless stream of drink orders at the bar (she was the best with cocktails anyway). The dance floor was a mess of fringe and feathers, swaying to the brassy beat of the jazz band. Sasha was probably in there somewhere. Mikasa leaned against the hallway door with a small smile that would go unnoticed by anyone who didn't know her closely. Erwin was in the office again, and Levi was out of sight. Probably off somewhere with a mop, Eren figured, forehead creased in concentration and spite in equal measure.

The song finished with a flourish from Connie's saxophone, and Ymir's double bass was quick to fill the silence with a quick transition to "Hearts Flush." Eren recognized it immediately, face splitting in half with a smile as he turned to face Armin. The blond looked over his shoulder from the bench to send him a cheery grin. Maybe even smug. Eren went with the latter; the young businessman was so far from innocent it was hard not to laugh when anyone called him childish.

The speakeasy had been his idea anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus it begins. "Hearts Flush" is from the "Homestuck: Drawing Dead" album.


	2. The Rose Diner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where that second tag starts applying. Don't worry, Sasha will come in later. As well as all those other characters listed way up there. Probably worth mentioning that although I've done a ton of one-shots and smaller stuff this is my first multi-chapter fic.
> 
> For Jelly Bat, because like hell am I going to let you call me a goddess in hover text and get away with.

The Rose Diner and Bar was a quaint little restaurant, skirting the edge of the riverside city of Trost, Kentucky. As the foreign name implied the town was full of immigrants, drawn to the United States by the blooming economy and safe haven from war only to discover the expectations for their new life needed lowering. The restaurant made most of its revenue off factory workers commuting from the mills across the river, who mostly ordered cheap beer in broken English and harsh, Eastern European accents. It was a small, 5-man operation: 1 each to cook, bartend, serve, cashier, and manage. It followed the workers' schedules; open from 4:00 pm to midnight, as proudly stated by the "OPEN" sign Mikasa flipped over to display "CLOSED".

Sasha waved to her as she walked out the door. "Goodnight everyone! See you tomorrow!"

"Sasha, you still have your apron on," Jean pointed out from behind the bar, cleaning a highball glass with a tattered dishrag. She stopped in the middle of the doorway, looking down at her stained chef's apron.

"That I do! Dunno what I'd do without ya." The brunette pulled the knot's strings, tugging the neck loop over her head. She folded it messily and tossed it to Armin, who stood two tables away. She exited with a flourish and a chipper wave goodbye. 

Armin paused wiping the countertop to catch the dingy apron, fold it properly, and drape it over his forearm. "It's fifteen past closing. How does she have this much energy?"

"Says the guy who researches the stock market trade instead of sleeping," countered Eren from the back of the kitchen. "I don't think I've ever seen you yawn."

The blond shrugged. "Coffee, I guess."

"You don't drink coffee," Eren pointed out.

"Hopefully at least not from here. I'm the one who makes it and I know it's terrible," Jean chimed casually. "There's a reason people only come here for alcohol. Which I also serve, and is also terrible."

Mikasa appeared by his side, restocking the cabinets with the dried glasses he set aside. "Give yourself credit. Quality beer is hard to find with our budget. You're doing what you can."

"It'll only get harder if this prohibition movement gets anywhere," Jean added.

"How long did you say, Armin? December?" Eren emerged from the kitchen, flicking excess dishwater off his hands. "A convenient four months until we're on the streets."

"You are all too quick to dramatics. We all have assets outside of the diner," Mikasa chided. She paused, eyed the empty street, and followed up with a hasty "December?" to Armin.

The blond nodded grimly, setting the apron and washcloth on the table and turning to face them. "Congress is looking for a good debate topic. Even if it's spearheaded by religious types."

Eren groaned. "If we're talking politics I'm outta here."

Jean grabbed his collar as he passed in front of the bar countertop. "Hold up. This concerns you too. Mikasa's right."

"About the assets or the dramatics?" his captive protested.

"Both," Jean decided. "Just think about it. Armin's got his grandfather-"

"You know I don't like depending on him though. And who even lives to 76?" Armin said, exasperated.

"-AND a formal education. Eren, your dad's a doctor-"

"-and that's his one redeeming trait," Eren finished with a snarl. "Can you let go now?"

Jean released his captive with a rare, apologetic look. "-touchy subject, right, gotcha. Your medical training has to count for something though, even if it's not official-"

"Not in the city, no," Armin corrected. "He'd get arrested for working without a license, and if anyone sued you could be rung up for malpractice-"

"Dammit Armin I'm trying to help. Mikasa, you could sell the property and-"

"Absolutely not," she shot down immediately.

"...-or no. I've got a job outside of this one. Sasha's in college, so she's gotta have funds other than the pay here," Jean continued. "Come on. Even if we have to close-"

"We are not shutting down The Rose Diner," Mikasa cut off, tone with an edge like a blade.

Jean huffed. "Okay, how about instead of interrupting me, we come up with some ideas. Ones that don't involve Mikasa inflicting bodily harm."

The four crowded around the tabletop in silence. Mikasa sat down on an overstuffed stool and dazed, her chin dipping below the hem of her scarf. Armin folded an arm across his chest and propped his elbow on it, and the previously idle Eren perked up immediately.

"So, what's the plan Armin?" Eren asserted.

"What? I don't have- well, I didn't... I was just think-..." Armin waved his hands in vague gestures. "It's not a plan," he ended with a hard stare at Eren.

"Bullshit, you've got that look in your eye. Plus you're doing your thinking pose!" he countered smugly, mimicking Armin's stance.

The blond sighed. "It's not going to work. And... illegal too."

"As if that's stopped you before!" Eren scoffed. Jean gave an astonished look at Mikasa, who shook her head sagely.

Armin protested. "No, it would never work. There's not even room!"

"Room, huh? We can do renovations-"

"With what funds? It'd be impossible with what we've got. God, Eren, believe it or not I'm not a genius."

"Please, Armin, a ridiculous plan is a better start than none."

"That is definitely not true."

"You're avoiding the question."

"What question?"

"The first one, obviously!"

"Armin, just say it." Mikasa interjected coolly.

Armin slumped across the counter. "... Fine. It's... we have a good riverside location, so ease of transport, even if the place is a bit out-of-the-way. The factories will cover up the noise. We're already open late so there'd be no change in schedule. Same customers too, so nothing strange. We'd need more staff, and a band. And I don't think we have enough money to keep two businesses open until the second one starts to pay itself off, even with pooled funds. And primarily, no space. But... a speakeasy. We have the fundamentals for a speakeasy. Just not the money for it. Happy?"

Armin sat down at the bar counter, buried his face in his crossed arms and grumbled. Jean rubbed a soothing hand on his back while glancing between his other coworkers. Mikasa blinked back impassively while Eren tilted his head to the side and hummed.

"I don't get why you're all fussed up. It could totally work. You said it yourself, we have the basic requirements and a great location," Eren mused.

Armin lifted his head up, back still facing the others. "There isn't enough space. The diner itself works as a front but that's pointless if there's nowhere to actually put it."

Mikasa glanced past the kitchen door. "That's not true."

Eren followed her line of sight and shuddered. "Oh, no. We are not going down there. You agreed."

"...The stockroom?" asked Armin.

"The stockroom," Jean replied. "Why though?"

"I... we aren't going down there," Armin deadpanned, sitting up properly. "Not after last time."

Mikasa just simpered. "We? You two can speak for yourselves. I'm the legal property owner and it's perfectly in my rights and capabilities."

"Shit she's serious," Eren hissed to Armin. "Jean, usually I'd never ask you, but help us out here."

"Sorry, you lost me at the stockroom," Jean parried, unbothered by Eren's jab. He opened his mouth to speak hesitantly. "How many secrets do you guys have?"

"We've known each other for a while," Eren grinned proudly.

Armin turned around and cocked his head, finally making eye contact. "It's been... I'd say 16 years?"

Eren nodded. "I was 6, you were 5. Summer a' 1903, and it's 1919 now. Mikasa came when I was 9, so 13 for her."

"Excellent question dodging," Jean drawled.

"Hey, 16 years is a lotta time," Eren remarked.

"Too many," Armin complained.

Eren jumped. "Wait, what? Are you saying-"

"Secrets," Armin corrected. "Don't worry Eren, I love you two. I'm just... sorry about this Jean, we've got a lot of history. Things got messy, and it's probably best you leave while you can still deny involvement. Trust us though, going down there- where's Mikasa?"

Sure enough, the only ones left in the room were Jean, Eren, and Armin. Each scanned the room until they heard a loud creak from the kitchen.

"Mikasa!" Eren bolted inside, Armin and Jean in tow. He turned a sharp corner to the right and there she was. The trapdoor was open and she was four steps down. A dim lantern swung from her outstretched hand, casting shadows on her curious face.

"'Evening," Mikasa stated casually.

Eren and Armin gave a defeated sigh. The former left to fetch another lantern from the pantry. The latter raked his fingers through his bangs the way he always did when he was nervous, and Jean already regretted not following his earlier advice.

"Coming?" Mikasa asked him.

"I guess," he huffed in response.

"You really don't have to. It's late, and you don't need to get caught up in this."

"Isn't it a bit late for that?"

"I guess." Mikasa's face twisted sourly. "This isn't going to be very clean, but you've probably figured that out."

Eren returned with another lantern and they descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the term "speakeasy" wasn't coined yet but there's no way I'm gonna write "illegal bar" or "underground pub" or "illicit establishment for the purpose of the consumption of alcohol" so historically inaccurate it is. I'll try to keep the rest as correct as possible.


	3. Downstairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's where that second tag starts applying. In which Jean didn't sign up for this and secrets. Lots of 'em.

Jean knew the diner had an indoor cellar inside the stockroom, but never pried into why nobody used it.

It seemed that prying was a lot of what he was going to do tonight.

The cellar didn't lead to a storage room or even a room at all. Three flights of dusty metal stairs ran down in a spiral, with smooth, gray, solid rock on all sides. Mikasa led the way, holding her lantern straight in front of her. Armin and Eren leaned into each other as they went down, and Jean brought up the rear. They reached a doorless entryway at the bottom.

Jean sniffed. "Something smells rotten."

The other three nodded dumbly and entered. Eren reached for the light switch and the room slowly lit up with a few stray sparks from the ceiling.

It was more of an atrium than a cellar by any standard. It was carved out of the same limestone as the corridor but felt a bit grander with a high ceiling and a wide, 200-square-foot rectangular floor. The rotting smell could be easily attributed to the dozens of dead potted plants that were tipped over in their and scattered around the floor. Empty tin pails and cheap plastic tables laid upturned without rhyme or reason. Half-empty bags of cheap fertilizer slumped and curled into themselves. Dry, infertile soil dusted the ground, bleached from the blazing glare of a hundred unshielded lightbulbs that hung from the ceiling. There was a single door 25 feet down on the right side, but otherwise the walls were featureless.

Armin must have caught Jean's dumbfounded stare because he helpfully supplied in a hush, "Opium. Don't worry, the setup is 30 years old and was here before the Ackermans bought it."

It was less reassuring than the fact that the facility looked so out of commission that no one could've been using it. Jean felt uneasy. They'd trusted him enough to show him all this and let him in on the plan. But what now? There had to be some reason why Eren and Armin were so apprehensive about coming.

Eren prodded a sandbag with his toe. "Yep. Just as much of a wreck as it was two years ago."

"We'll clean it out," Mikasa said decisively. "See? Space. What's next on the checklist, Armin?"

"You can't be serious," Armin scoffed, already aware of just how serious she was. "I would've thought you... oh fuck it. Tables; these flimsy ones aren't gonna cut it. Chairs to match. Replace this cracked linoleum with hardwood. For the whole place, actually, but aesthetics aside for now," he rattled off. "A bar. An office for business, a secondary kitchen, downstairs storage rooms, places to get alcohol once the ban's in effect, a car to retrieve it in, staff to cover the diner while we're down here, and... ammunitions. In case we run into trouble. The police, inevitable competitors, oh my god Eren if we get killed this is your fault to the moon and back-"

"It's doable. We have rooms," Mikasa explained, gesturing to the lone doorway, "and the back entrance will help with cleanup and renovations. We'll do the manual work ourselves, and sell whatever we can scavenge. Looking at the state of things, chances are the drug traders were racing to get out of here. They probably left some things behind. Jean was right about our other sources of income. We'll find a supplier; there's too many alcoholics, too many opportunists, and too many invitations to the black market. And who knows what else more we have here to work with here. We never did finish our exploration," Mikasa finished with an indistinguishable look that her accomplices matched.

There were memories here, sour ones, that much was obvious. The tension in the air was thick enough that Jean felt like he could swat at it. It was like a raincloud over their heads, threatening to rain bad memories instead of water droplets, and he was the only one with an umbrella. Eren was looking for awnings for shelter. Armin had given up the search and joined Mikasa, who stood directly under it, fully prepared to get drenched. She would do it with a blank face, he bet.

Jean felt like an intruder and the urge to leave resurfaced. That wasn't an option anymore, he reminded himself. "C'mon. Let's go see about that door."

Eren nodded, waving the other two over. Jean was surprised to find the door both unlocked and in decent shape, swinging open smoothly and soundlessly to reveal inky darkness.

"Switch is on your left," Armin supplied. Blindly running his hand against the cold, stone wall, Jean hit something decidedly plastic and flipped it on. It revealed another hallway, identical to the previous, connected to their entryway in a T-intersection. There were two doors on the right and three on the left. The far end had no door and led upstairs; the other dead-ended.

Mikasa strode through, asking Eren "Do you remember where you dropped the keys?"

There was a pause. "First on your right, near the bed. Probably still unlocked." Mikasa wordlessly entered the room, shutting the door behind her.

Jean hesitantly whispered to Armin "Why is she so determined to save this place?"

Eren and Armin exchanged glances. The brunet murmured back "That's for her to say."

"To say what?" the lady in question asked from inside the room. The three outside all jumped.

"Whether or not we go through this plan," Armin lied smoothly.

Mikasa opened the door, a ring of keys hanging limply from her left hand. "I figured that would've been obvious by now. Also, that room's empty except for that metal framework for a bed."

"Storage room?" Jean suggested.

"Sell the bed," Eren said.

Mikasa simpered. "Look at you two, actually working together." Both boys scowled at her and then each other, and she stepped between them to unlock the first door. Cringing, Eren turned to Armin behind her back, the two mouthing to each other.

_"We're in too deep.'" ___

__"Yeah, Eren, I got that." ____

___"Don't look at me like it's my fault. It was your idea!" ____ _

____"And you pushed it." ____ _ _

_____"Dammit. And now Jean's part of it too. How the hell do we explain this?" ____ _ _ _

_____After fiddling with the lock, Mikasa simply shoved the door open with her shoulder. "Lock's rusted over. Well Armin, you got your office."_ _ _ _ _

_____An oak desk stood askew on top of a dusty, patterned rug. Anything on the desk, including a jar full of pens, maps of the Eastern United States and the Mississippi River, and a healthy stack of books was shoved onto the floor. Barely legible, yellowed papers decorated the ground like snowflakes. A cast-iron coatrack nearly poked Jean's head upon entry, and a flimsy-looking bookcase framed the far corner, with the middles of the shelves sagging. All in all, it was about 20x20 sq ft and the nicest place they'd excavated so far. Not that there was competition._ _ _ _ _

_____"I... was thinking of a more formal one. For meetings and such?" Armin said hesitantly._ _ _ _ _

_____"You're grasping at straws," came Mikasa's calm response._ _ _ _ _

_____"Yes, yes I am. Because this is a terrible idea and I regret nothing quite like how I regret coming up with it."_ _ _ _ _

_____"Hey, at least there's a chance that we won't have to use it. The law hasn't passed yet, y'know," Eren smiled nervously._ _ _ _ _

_____"December," Jean fired back cynically, and received a slap behind the head from a grumpy Armin._ _ _ _ _

_____"Let's get this over with. Where to next?" the blond asked defeatedly._ _ _ _ _

_____Mikasa gestured left._ _ _ _ _

_____\---_ _ _ _ _

_____By the time they finished searching the basement and drafting Armin's plan it was three in the morning. There were enough rooms for an office, a kitchen, a pantry, an armory, and an extra for storage. Storage of what, nobody really knew. The back exit led upstairs and outside, to a gravel parking lot in desperate need of weeding that the diner shared with the next door seamstress. Other than a colorful assortment of cheap gardening supplies and more than a few spiders, they'd scavenged a few shotguns that were rusting over, three full shelves of canned goods, and a slightly concerning amount of petroleum. The kitchen already had a countertop and a dishwasher but that was all. There was an extra key that didn't match any locks, which Eren quickly snatched and pocketed. The whole setup still seemed pretty unlikely, but the more time spent down the quartet spent in the basement the more likely it seemed that not only would the Rose Diner become the Rose Speakeasy, but that it would actually work._ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why these chapters are coming in batches of two but that seems to be the accidental pattern.


	4. Preparing for the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Eren and Mikasa can kill three adults at the age of nine there's no way Armin is any better. Also, Jean is pretty much the Nick Carraway of this story, except with fewer obnoxiously rich people and no symbols representing the American dream. I can't promise anything about people getting run over though.

Armin strolled into the public library, briefcase in hand, same as he'd done near daily since childhood. He gave the receptionist a fond wave, not bothering to ask where the public records were kept. He already knew. Armin knew everything about this place, every little nook, every shelf in every section, every hour he'd spent with his nose in a book and his head somewhere else entirely.

Which was why it pained him a little to know he was here to burn it.

Not the entire library! Just a few documents, filed away where no one would even notice their disappearance. But the sick, uncomfortably warm feeling in Armin's stomach made him feel like he might as well be torching the whole building anyway. He couldn't suppress a frown as he wove through the shelves of the public records wing. Everything was nicely organized, leaving Armin pacing one row of metal file cabinets in search of the address.

_112... 110... 108... 106..._

104 street, Trost, KY. Armin had to kneel to open it; the drawer was second from the bottom in a stack of eight high. The file folders inside held multiple sheets of paper in each, and Armin selected the one labeled with the address of the Rose Diner. 

He shut the door and stood up, leaning against the cabinets and studying a small photo of the restaurant paper-clipped to the front pocket. Gray clouds overhead only added to the haze of the low-contrast picture. The exterior hadn't changed any. Armin tucked the photo back in and scanned over the first few documents in the folder. Diagrams of the property from the front and overhead, a sole sheet of paper with a few facts also identifying Mikasa Ackerman as the inheritress, and blueprints. There were three total, including one for the basement they'd been mapping out earlier this week. There was nothing they didn't already know, meaning no extra room that the spare key might go to. Armin grabbed the entire folder and slid it into his briefcase. He couldn't take the blueprints alone, and an empty folder would just raise suspicions. Best to chalk it down to librarian incompetence. Sorry Mrs. Bryant. 

Newspaper archives were next. This room was slightly more frequented, judging by the slightly less dusty air. It got dustier quickly; it was pure luck that the library stocked the Sunday issues entire decades back. 

1906\. June 1906. The 3rd Sunday of June, 1906. On the back of the first page, there was a story on a 1st degree murder with breaking-and-entering case. Armin skimmed the article, even if he already knew the story. The perpetrators were three white middle-aged men, who broke into a small countryside house, and killed the two adult residents. Local resident Dr. Grisha Jaeger, who was at the scene, attempted to apprehend the criminals before having to kill them in self defense. 

Armin forced himself to choke down a smile at the last line. Eren might not like his dad, but it's probably for the better that Grisha took responsibility. Eren and Mikasa weren't even mentioned; nobody would believe that two nine-year-olds were the ones to handle it personally. 

_Murder isn't the only crime they'll get charged with if you don't finish up,_ Armin chided himself. He stashed the newspaper before continuing backwards through the archives. The article detailing the illegal opium plant bust would be in August, 1893. While he was at it, Armin figured he might as well snatch the report on Grisha's disappearance too. 

There'd be some background checks done later. Sasha and Jean didn't seem like they would have any black marks that needed erasing, but Armin didn't either, and he'd been knee-deep in redacted government documents since before he could walk. Through all his endeavors though, the speakeasy would be his biggest project to date, and would be no part time hobby. Maybe later he'd ask the staff if there were any works mentioning the Kirchstein or Braus families. Depending on how far this project went, he'd have to search deeper for any friends of theirs who might leak information too. 

Mikasa had no surviving relatives, and Armin had already screened what remained of Eren's and his own families. The first outsiders that came to mind were Jean's coworker, Marco, and Sasha's roommate. What was her name again? 

Krista Lenz. Right. 

\----- 

The rifles were pawned, the office was cleared and straightened, and the extra key had found a home on a string around Eren's neck by the next time Jean entered the Rose Diner. Mikasa and Armin had already told Sasha the plan, who sounded almost excited to engage in criminal activity. 

"Hey, college is expensive! Overtime here'll be handy." Sasha poured a sparse amount oil into a saucepan, stove already fired up. 

"I don't know if that excuse will hold up in court," Jean pointed out. Sasha hummed in content response. 

"Don't worry. Armin and Mikasa will take care of keeping us off-radar," Eren said, poking his head into the kitchen. The blond protested from outside, starting an argument that boiled down to: 

Armin: I'm not important  
Eren: Yes you are  
Armin: No I'm not  
Eren: Yes you are  
Armin: Stop complimenting me  
Eren: No 

"Hurry up everyone, it's near opening time," Mikasa called from the dining room. Eren and Jean filed out, taking their respective positions at the bar and cash register. 

The first customers piled in. 

\----- 

The next day, business was slow. Mikasa covered the register while Eren went downstairs. They had somehow procured a team to help clear out the basement of gardening supplies, and It was completely cleaned and swept in two days. 

\----- 

Mikasa pawned the plastic tableware and any still-useful gardening tools. It still didn't add up to enough money to put in a hardwood floor. That didn't mean that Jean wouldn't admit the white oak boards looked nice. 

\----- 

November 1919. War is over forever, the economy is headed upwards, immigrants are piling in, and things aren't looking too great for the alcohol industry. 

\----- 

Jean was sick for a week. The next time he clocked in at the diner the downstairs kitchen was fully furnished. 

\----- 

Armin officially gave up trying to convince Sasha and Jean that they were still working with their original budget. The speakeasy was nearly complete anyway. All they needed was a place to get alcohol once the ban was in effect, and a way to advertise. 

\----- 

Sasha flounced into her dormitory, dropping her bag on the floor and landing onto the bed with a bounce. "Krista, I'm back." 

The blonde looked up from her book across the room. "It's nearly 5:00 in the morning. You've been getting back later and later from work, what are you-" she yawned, "what are you doing?" 

Sasha rubbed her eyes. "It's a bit of a secret." 

"I'm no stranger to secrets. Tell, so we can go to bed." 

"All right. Don't freak out over this, and either way it's too late for me to stop being involved, but... you might not like this." 

\---- 

The Rose Speakeasy now had a stage in the main atrium, with seven tables and chairs to match, a bar, a kitchen, an office, a stockroom (empty), an armory (empty), and a stage for the main room. Everything was in order, except for the perceivable shortage of alcohol. They'd have to turn in what they own or face a search warrant, leaving their bottle racks empty. 

As Eren put it, "It's time to make some friends." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KY stands for Kentucky and time skips are my best friend. Sorry this one's short, next one's longer and probably funnier.


	5. Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prohibition officially begins, Sasha goes to college, and Eren and Mikasa go on an adventure. Also, let's pretend preferred pronouns were a thing in the early 20th century. Please tell me if I'm using them wrong; it's my first time working with them.

December of 1919. The 19th Amendment to the Bill of Rights is signed into law, stating that the consumption, buying, selling, and owning of alcoholic beverages in the United States of America is illegal. The Prohibition has officially begun.

\-----

The bell chimes rang, followed by a chorus of screeching chairs and papers rustling as class ended for the day. Sasha tucked her notebook into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and wove her way through the desks, headed for her teacher's desk instead of the door.

Professor Pixis was a polite, bald man who looked older than he really was. Wrinkles littered his face from both laughter and stress, and a few more gathered around his squinty eyes when he greeted Sasha with a smile.

"Hi professor..." Sasha trailed off, but eyes not straying from his face.

"Hello Sasha! Is there anything you need?"

She steeled herself and threw her shoulders back. "Yes, actually. Can I see your flask?"

Pixis's smile dropped at the odd request. "Sasha, alcohol is illegal. And besides, I can't give it to a minor."

"I didn't ask about alcohol, just the flask," Sasha stated, and Pixis's grin returned. "May I see it?"

"Tricky. You're a good student, Sasha, always energetic about your work. Stay out of trouble." He removed the aluminum bottle in his jacket pocket nonetheless.

She unscrewed the top, not taking a swig but instead smelling it. "What is this?"

"Oh, just regular ale," said Pixis. "Don't fret, I'm perfectly sober."

"I know, and you're also not a liar," Sasha frowned, hip cocked. "Where'd you get this?"

"...You're a clever one." Pixis simpered.

"I work at a bar, so I know my liquor. We need stock. Where'd you get this?" she said more sternly.

The professor looked at her quizzically. "Indiana."

"That's a state. I need an address," Sasha said, unusually straightforward.

The professor hummed, getting a scrap of loose-leaf from a drawer and taking his fountain pen in hand. "This Prohibition business is troublesome. Best of luck with it anyhow. Tell Jean I said hello." He handed Sasha the paper, his usual smile returning. She thanked him, stashing the address in her blazer pocket and waving goodbye.

The door was already shut when Sasha realized _Wait a second, how does he know Jean, and that he's my coworker?_

\-----

"You know Mikasa, Indiana doesn't look that much different from Kentucky." Eren crossed his arms on the windowsill and leaned his head outside, letting the wind push his hair back. The countryside road was completely deserted, and the duo had taken advantage by going 30 miles per hour past the speed limit.

Mikasa took one hand off the steering wheel to pull him back inside by the collar. "Don't stick your head out the window. And actually, there is a difference."

"Well yeah, Indiana is farther north."

"True, but I was going to say that this is probably corn instead of soybeans." Mikasa motioned to the farm fields whizzing past.

Eren groaned, laying his head down on the dashboard instead. "How can you even tell?"

"The lines from reaping are thinner."

Another groan. "How much longer?"

Mikasa restrained the urge to roll her eyes. "I'm not sure actually."

"What!? You mean we've been lost this whole time!?" Eren shouted, throwing his hands in the air and falling over backwards dramatically. He bumped into the headrest and immediately stopped, rubbing the back of his skull in annoyance. This time Mikasa allowed herself the eye roll.

"At least we're headed in the right direction. Armin did warn us it'd be in the middle of nowhere. Maps out and everything."

Eren thought back to their little meeting in the basement four days ago. Mikasa had nearly jumped Sasha at the news of a possible supplier, and suddenly the five of them were down two flights of stairs, through a hall, turning a corner and inside an office that looked significantly different from when they'd first found it. The desk was still covered in maps though, with Armin tracing a cross-state route down an inset of the Midwest. It looked simple enough on paper. Then they remembered that they were five 20-year-olds waltzing up to a complete stranger's property, an illegal moonshine distillery at that, and asking if they wanted to be business partners. Maybe it wasn't a bad thing that it would be a while until they found it.

"Hey, Eren, a mailbox."

Or not.

Mikasa slowed the car to a stop, and Eren read off the address. "2564. That's the one. And I'm gonna guess this gravel leads up to the estate?" Eren motioned to the unpaved road to their right, weeds blurring the lines between the path and the surrounding barley fields. "You're sure this is the right spot?"

Mikasa nodded, and Eren huffed. "You're ringing the doorbell. No way I'm making a fool out of myself walkin' up to some grampa's retirement home and asking if he's got booze."

Mikasa blinked impassively as the car revved up again. As they approached the farmhouse though she started doubting herself. The small house and neighboring barn looked shabby, with chipping, bleached paint and windows coated in dust. Ivy snaked up the sides of the house and the porch posts, with sagging floorboards suggesting rot. It was two stories tall but not very wide or long, and was easily dwarfed by the barn. It was near idyllic, or even stereotypical, with a pentagonal shape and black shingles complimenting red, wooden sides. It desperately needed retiling and repainting, which would be made difficult by its massive size. Eren commented "you could store the entire air force in there," which was an over-dramatization. It was closer to two-thirds.

They pulled up right next to the door due to the absence of a driveway. Mikasa exited the car and strolled to the entrance, wary of the porch steps that showed obvious signs of termite decay. Opting to jump over them entirely, she landed gracefully on the oversized doormat and knocked three times.

No answer, excluding a creak from underneath the house. Mikasa tried again.

No answer.

"Try the handle," Eren suggested.

"That's rude. We can't just barge in," Mikasa frowned at his lack of manners.

Eren reasoned with a delinquent's logic. "If it's truly abandoned, there's no one to call us out on trespassing. If the lock is weak you could push it down without breaking it, and a strong lock confirms our suspicions."

"What if its unlocked and not abandoned?" she asked.

"Then we give our pitch!" Eren said brightly.

Mikasa gave in and grabbed the doorknob. It barely turned: from rust or a solid lock was beyond her. Eren finally hopped out of the car, but instead of walking to his step-sister he ran around back, deaf to her calls. Running through bushes and a decaying garden, the brunet skirted around the farmhouse to the backdoor. Peering through the dirty window pane and the clogged bug screen behind it, Eren could make out dim shapes of furniture inside: four or five chairs around a low table, a gas stovetop, and some blurry, wide object that he was trying to get a better look at when-

"Oh hey! Ya know, if I'd known we'd have guests I would've tidied up. It's not the cleanest in there. Here's hoping you're not as neurotic as Levi!"

Eren froze, wide-eyed at the chirpy voice, and slowly turned to look over his shoulder. The owner of the voice and most likely the property he was trespassing on stood proudly with a hand on hir hip. Hir messy auburn hair was tied up and there was a suspicious glint in hir eyes that wasn't quite hidden by hir goggles when ze introduced hirself. "I'm Hanji. Anything in particular you need, other than stomping on my flower beds?"

Eren looked back at his trail of wreckage guiltily. "Yeah, uh, sorry. I'm-"

"An idiot who has no common sense, boundaries, or manners," Mikasa hissed, stomping around from the other side of the house. Eren jumped and turned to face her ashamedly.

"Aw, my azaleas. Just because it's winter doesn't mean you can step on 'em," Hanji sighed, rubbing at hir forehead. Mikasa apologized and the farmer continued. "Any nickname I can give him? Calling him 'an idiot with no common sense, boundaries, or manners' is gonna get tiresome," ze said to Mikasa.

"Eren," the brunet in question supplied with a grin. "And my sis is Mikasa."

"No surnames?" Hanji joked.

"You didn't offer me yours," Eren noted.

"Zoe. Hanji Zoe. Nonbinary pronouns please. If you don't have a problem with that, follow me." Ze whipped out a ring of keys from seemingly thin air and unlocked the door, ushering the guests in and turning on the lights.

The three stepped into the kitchen, which was conjoined to a dining room and a study. Bottles, culinary items, pens, papers, and books were cluttered everywhere, but the rooms themselves were spotless, with no traces of dust, stains, dirt, or grime. Eren was correct in his previous assumptions, with the blurry object being a wooden writing desk. Hanji sat down at the table, gesturing for hir guests to take a seat as well.

"You're being rather hospitable considering that we are complete strangers," Mikasa stated, settling into her chair.

"Are you complaining?" Hanji smiled humorously, and Eren gaped at his sister.

Hanji looked at them both curiously, and he began waving his hands. "No! No no no no no, of course not! We're just... it's as if you were expecting us."

"I was," ze said plainly. "Pixis phoned to say we got business. He wouldn't have told you about us if he didn't trust you."

"And the fact that we're barely over the age limit to drink legally isn't an issue?" Mikasa said, suspicious.

"Currently, nobody can drink legally," Hanji pointed out with a smile, "and while you guys do a good job of covering your tracks, Nanaba still did a little digging on you five."

"Five?!" Eren jumped.

"Yep, five! Tell Armin that Erwin says nice work on those stocks."

Eren sighed. "I'm gonna ignore the digging comment for now. What kind of deal are we making here?"

Hanji became serious. "A professional one. We expect you to discreet about this, meaning no matter who's asking, you don't tell anyone who and where we are. You're only here because Pixis trusts you enough and knows you mean business. We can't start selling you anything immediately considering the full team isn't here yet."

Mikasa frowned before straightening her face again. "If that's the case, contact us when you're ready to make a deal. The ban is so recent I doubt anyone else is as set up as you are," Mikasa said.

"Foresight is a useful trait. And don't worry, we'll have competition soon enough." Hir assuring tone contradicted hir foreboding words.

"'We' meaning both parties, right?" Eren nudged his sister. "Told you we'll need a bigger armory."

Mikasa didn't respond, continuing to let him jab her side with his elbow. She asked Hanji "I knew it'd be inevitable, even in the small city we're from. Should we expect help?"

"Only if we should in return. This deal goes in both directions," ze answered simply. Any other questions?"

\---

Eren and Mikasa returned to the Rose Diner at around 4:35. It had already been open for half an hour, though there was only a surly-looking Yugoslavian at the back table to show for customers. Jean, Armin, and Sasha were already at their stations, though the blond had been covering Eren's spot as cashier. They switched places, and Jean took the opportunity to ask Mikasa how the meeting went.

"Well enough. We'll explain the details at closing time. Oh, and Armin?" He looked up. "Erwin says nice work on those stocks."

Armin paused for an explanation, looked to an inattentive Eren for one, then to Jean who stared back cluelessly, and then resumed tying on an apron with a timid expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a Hoosier, I can confirm through years of experience of driving through nothing but farm fields that all of the midwest looks about the same. Sorry this is late. I was away from home for a while, which is why this entire chapter was written on my iPod and why Bottle Notes hasn't updated. I'm going to get on that, I swear. (The four anime premieres in the past two weeks didn't help though.)

**Author's Note:**

> For Jelly Bat, because like hell are you gonna call me a goddess in hover text and get away with it.


End file.
